


Looking for Sappho

by Clair de Lune (clair_de_lune)



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Ending, Drabble, Dubious Consent, F/F, Femslash, Happy Ending, non-epilogue-compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-05
Updated: 2011-02-05
Packaged: 2017-10-15 10:07:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/159741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clair_de_lune/pseuds/Clair%20de%20Lune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ensemble of femslash drabbles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Looking for Sappho

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Torigates for the beta.

**Veronica/Lisa Rix**

This isn’t how Lincoln had planned things, and he feels a bit neglected; left out of the fun. He had imagined that Vee and Lisa would play with each other for his appreciation and then they would play with him.

Instead, they play with each other for _their_ appreciation and then... they kind of forget him. For a few minutes, he thinks it’s retaliation – and he’s honest enough to admit that maybe, he would deserve such a thing. But the minutes last and expand, and the two women are still engrossed with one another and not paying attention to him. Not that it’s not fucking hot, watching them sixty-nine-ing with a sensuality that goes straight to his groin. Their equally lithe figures writhe and rub together as they pant and moan louder and louder. So loud, in the end, that he has to acknowledge that they won’t... need his help, so to speak.

When they’re finished, Veronica shifts on the bed. Lisa takes her in her arms and they snuggle, Veronica’s head resting on Lisa’s breasts – right where Linc’s head _should_ be resting, for God’s sake. They offer him a “Sorry, babe,” that couldn’t sound less sorry even if they tried hard. Frustrated, he wraps his hand around his erection, only to be stopped in his tracks by Vee pouting so prettily.

“Could you please... not do that here?”

 

**Gretchen/Jane**

It’s like boot camp all over again, except that in comparison with the Company’s training, boot camp almost looked like a walk in the park. Neither Jane nor Gretchen allows anything to show up as long as they are under scrutiny, as long as the exercises and drills are going on. It’s only when they are alone in the relative intimacy of their quarters that they slightly lower their defenses; even then, they remain cautious and on their guard. They lie together, tend to each other, hold on to each other, but they don’t actually indulge into feeling anything.

This is not affection, anyway. This merely is the last manifestation of needing human contact. Soon, it will be gone, Gretchen knows it for sure. It’s part of their training, and the training is efficient. It doesn’t prevent her from taking and enjoying whatever Jane has to offer – _always use all the available resources to the best of your abilities_. A warm body is a warm body, and Jane, as tough as nails as she is, still can melt just enough to please Gretchen – and Gretchen is pretty sure it’s reciprocal.

 

**Sara/Katie**

“You need to practice, girl, or you’re going to forget how it’s done.”

Sara knows that Katie is teasing – gently teasing because this is Katie: she doesn’t have a hint of meanness in her bones. Yet, she takes the bait, partially to play along and partially because she can’t help it.

“You don’t just forget how it’s done,” she replies in a slightly offended tone. “It’s like... riding a bicycle. And for your information, I’m a _great_ kisser.”

“Well, I’ll have to ask Scofield about that.”

Sara gasps. “Now, are you accusing me of lacking practice or of practicing on an inmate?”

“It’s just that you assert things and I don’t have the beginning of a proof.”

Sara’s a nice girl. She is. Despite what she can pretend in front of certain persons. But sometimes... sometimes the not-so-nice girl shows up, and...

She leans in and cups Katie’s face in her hands, holding her when the other woman tries to back off. For a couple of seconds, she lets her think she’ll get away with a brush of mouth against mouth. Then she’s nipping at the lips beneath hers, sweeping her tongue delicately and flicking it in a way that has Katie whimper faintly. Sara feels the tingle of a sharp and delighted in-take of breath against her cheek, and she smiles with satisfaction.

When they part, Katie is puzzled and flustered, but quick as ever to fall back on her feet.

“OK, then”, she concedes. “I’ll let Scofield _know_ about that.”

 

**Caroline Reynolds/Samantha Brinker**

It’s not like it’s a huge sacrifice. Samantha already had to put up with worse stuff, more unpleasant stuff.

It’s not like she actually needs this kind of compromising intel to hold Reynolds in the palm of her hand. She already has shit-load of compromising intel. Furthermore, she can make up more if she ever really needs it.

It’s not like they actually screw. It never goes very far, actually. They never fully undress, they never kiss, they never even mention it once it’s over. Just hands discreetly slipping under clothes and into damp warmth, stroking expertly, getting off the other one with a minimal amount of effort. They pant and gasp and shudder; worst case scenario, they utter a strangled moan and writhe in the backseat of Reynolds’ black limo or up against a wall.

It’s not like it’s going to last. But so far? Samantha kind of likes it.

 

**Sara/Nika**

She knows it’s a nightmare. She’s in this intermediary, weird state where she knows she’s dreaming but is unable to wake up. So, behind her close eyes, she has to watch Nika Volek – Nika Scofield – move and writhe right in front of her, right _against_ her, her hips grinding into Sara’s. Slowly, the girl unbuttons the lab coat she’s wearing – perfectly similar to the one Sara wears every day – lets it slide down her arms and throws it in Sara’s hands. She only has red panties and a bra underneath it, but all Sara’s attention focuses on her fingernails, long and manicured. They gently trail down Sara’s neck, brush over the flimsy material of her camisole and aim for her lower stomach. Sara automatically parts her legs.

She wakes up when the tip of Nika’s imaginary fingers brushes her cotton underwear. She’s drenched in sweat, her breath caught in the throat, and her hand pressed between her thighs – and damn too aroused to feel any shame.

 

**Sara/Veronica**

It’s a series of minute and casual contacts that kindle odd warmth in Veronica’s lower stomach. Their fingers touch when she hands Sara Tancredi a cup of coffee; their hair brush each other’s when the two of them bend over the files; their knees bump when they slide closer on the couch of the hotel bedroom. Doctor Tancredi turns her head and her breath mingles with Vee’s, who flinches with pleasure.

She should be surprised to feel that way towards a complete stranger, a woman moreover; she should be ashamed to feel that way _now_ , as they’re poring over Linc’s file and trying to find something, anything, to save him. Maybe she would be both, surprised and ashamed, if she still had the strength to. Or maybe not. Maybe she’s just too far gone to care anymore. As it is, she lets the warmth turns into heat and spread as she thinks that possibly, this is merely gratitude for someone who – no matter the outcome – cares.

 

**Sara/Gretchen**

She fights back. Gretchen positively loves it when they fight back. Sometimes, they just freeze when she lays her hands on them, even the men. Sure, it’s flattering, it’s a nod to the power she holds over them, but they do not make valuable opponents. Where’s the thrill if they’ve already surrendered?

Sara Tancredi doesn’t surrender. She doesn’t scream or threaten uselessly like the little girl Gretchen had imagined she was. She sets her jaw and struggles with all the strength left in her. When her nails rake Gretchen’s cheek, they break the skin and dig deep into the flesh. Gretchen wipes off the blood surging from the wound with the back of her hand and takes a step back, smirking. She’s cautious; she waits that one of her goons has handcuffed Tancredi and, before leaning in again, she secures the pretty chin of her captive in the palm of her hand.

“Now, now, Kitten,” she croons, “We’re going to have so much fun.”

She crushes their mouths together and moves her lips, prying Sara’s open; it’s a parody of a kiss, and a delicious one. She is not the least surprised that the other woman bites hard at her lips and tongue. She expected it and she returns the favor, retaliating and watching with satisfaction dark red blood slide down Tancredi’s chin.

She loves it when they fight back.

 

**Gretchen/Lisa Tabak**

Ms. Tabak despises her for a dozen different reasons, and hates for a single one: to put it bluntly, every now and then, they fuck and Lisa likes it. From where Gretchen stands, it only makes their random encounters, like today’s, hotter and more pleasant.

With a stone face, Gretchen weights the dildo she’s retrieved from Lisa’s bag and secures her hold on it. In a same smooth motion, she pushes the toy into Lisa and pulls it out almost entirely. She does this several times, without letting the other woman the time to adjust to its width and ridged structure. In and out with a clock-like regularity, until sweat breaks on Lisa’s brow and she starts thrashing on the bed. This is when things start getting fun, this is when the general’s daughter loses it, slowly but surely. At this point, the push-in pull-out motions become wilder, irregular and whimsical. Gretchen gradually sets the vibrations to the highest level and watches Lisa’s lean body arch up and her stomach clench uncontrollably. Lisa doesn’t moan; she never does. She comes with her eyes squeezed shut, her nails digging in the palm of her hands and her teeth gritted. Gretchen finds it funny, that she won’t let out any sound. As if it changed anything.

Sometimes, Gretchen wonders if she’s going to have to bang the whole fucking family. Then, she sees the bright side of things: at least, Lisa doesn’t need to make her dress up like a schoolgirl to have an orgasm.

 

**Sara/Sofia**

They don’t do anything wrong, really. Sara just likes Sofia’s touch. At least, contrary to LJ, Lincoln or Michael, the young woman _can_ apply sunscreen on Sara’s legs and back without blushing the second her hands brush her skin, letting sand find its way into the lotion or being so riled up by the mere contact that the next step is definitely not sunbathing but finding a secluded place. The reactions of the Burrows-Scofield boys are endearing – Sara won’t pretend they’re not – but sometimes, easy, buddy-like closeness is nice too.

There is nothing shady in the way Sofia’s delicate warm hands slip under the hook of Sara’s bikini top; there is no innuendo when they lightly dip under the elastic band of its bottom to make sure the sunblock has been properly spread everywhere. This is care and friendship. So is the fact that once an hour, she casts a concerned glance at Sara and grabs the lotion bottle – “Your skin is so pale, you’ve got to be careful.”

This is why Sara feels slightly naughty when she melts under the friendly rubbing, stretches and swallows back a groan. This is why she really, really prefers that nobody notice that every now and then, Sofia’s fingers glide just a tad lower and skim over the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.

 

**Sara/Jane**

Last night, an arm affectionately wrapped around Sofia’s slender waist, Lincoln watched Sara and Jane kid around, chuckle and exchange in-jokes. With a bemused smile, he told them they were misfits. Naughty girls. Partners in crime.

Linc has no idea.  
\----------------

Jane’s hand is on the inside of Sara’s knee and quickly – but not quickly enough if Sara’s squirms are any indication – sliding up; her mouth is in Sara’s neck and gliding, kissing, licking its way down. When the mouth reaches the delicate hollow of Sara’s cleavage, the hand curls between her thighs, and Sara arches up with a gasp.

“I love Michael.”

“Of course you do. Who wouldn’t?” Jane answers.

“This is not cheating.”

“Nope. Just a helping hand. Just looking for Sappho,” Jane agrees, rubbing Sara just the right way through her panties, wary not to slip her fingers under the damp fabric. Her lips too work Sara through her clothes, licking and sucking on a taut nipple until the thin cotton of her dress is wet with saliva and clings to the skin.

“You think this is cheating?” Sara asks in a breathless voice.

Jane grins and presses her thumb a tiny bit harder. Sara scrambles to try and catch her wrist but Jane eludes her grip – no way this happens.

“I think everyone is entitled to their fantasies. I think...” She throws a glance up, in the general direction of the chair at the other end of the living room, and says, “... I think that Michael likes watching.”

Sara comes with a wild roll of hips and a high-pitched whine.  
\----------------

Lincoln really has _no_ idea.


End file.
